


In the Dark of the Night

by KindListener



Category: Old Dark House (1932)
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Gay Male Character, Gothic, M/M, No Dialogue, Older Characters, Oral Sex, Rough Kissing, Spit As Lube, Unsafe Sex, mute character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 01:50:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19347121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KindListener/pseuds/KindListener
Summary: I strip out of my waistcoat and loosen my tie, sliding off my shoes and out of my shirt. The night is wet and the air is thick with tension and humidity.





	In the Dark of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Something I wrote for myself. Might get longer, might be deleted! Who knows! 💕

Rebecca had been quite adamant that I not stay the night yet Horace had all but insisted, on a night like tonight. I am a part of the — extended — family, you see. It wasn’t until they, essentially, adopted Morgan that I stopped my weekly visits to see our dear Roderick. He has been quite ill, of course, which is not very difficult to believe when one is as old as him.

By the by, I strip out of my waistcoat and loosen my tie, sliding off my shoes and out of my shirt. The night is wet and the air is thick with tension and humidity. I hang my clothes by the fire of my old room, peeling off my suit trousers, too. They begin to dry by the fireplace as I lie myself down for a well deserved nap.

I had spied Morgan during supper, his eyes trailing up Miss Margaret’s slender figure but she was young, at twenty-two, and full of life but us? We belong in a museum, myself at forty-two and him at forty-five. A kind of dagger had twisted in my heart when I saw him ogling the young girl. Was it disgust? Nevertheless, I have tried to keep myself in shape but, sometimes, luxury and greed gets the better of us. I am a sinner. I know this, especially when Morgan emerges from the kitchen, his scarred face twisted into a smile.

The first time I met Morgan, we were young, just like Margaret. I was twenty and he twenty-three. He had only just started working for the Femm family and their strange proclivities. I had come to visit my distant uncle, Roderick. It was 1910 and my uncle was eighty and ill. They feared the worst. So I walked through the door, my face already a mess of tears as they walked me up to his room. He was weak and fearful, such a kind, old man to have received such a cruel death but he seemed happy enough to go. I stayed by his bedside with Horace, tension rising and falling as his status became worse then better. Hours became days and days became weeks. Rebecca sorted me with a room next to hers, lavish as it was. It belonged to her late sister, where the thick stench of death still pervaded. I had to send a message to my father to tell him that I would be staying a little while, as I, originally, came in his place. Under these circumstances, my relationship with the Femm’s Morgan blossomed and bloomed with the grace and magesty of a rotting corpse.

He had served me lunch and I felt his eyes on me as I ate, much like Margaret, my lips closing around my fork, watching him over the rims of my glasses as he watched me with intrigue. There was electric in the air that was thick with sadness and depression. His skin, yet unmarred by the passage of time, was warm and inviting, his lips in a crooked smile as he pushed me against the doorframe. He was drunk, he was perverted, he was gorgeous, his dark hair mussed as I kissed him. The romance spilled onto my bed, in the moonlight, staining our skin dark as he rushed me, my legs straddling his hips as he watched me, my tie loose and my shirt slightly unbuttoned. Ravenous, terrifying and thrilling, the roughness of his fingers graced my chest and I groaned at his touch, shying from his eyes like a wounded pup from its attacker. I tasted the whiskey on his lips, felt the stubble on his cheeks, the sharpness of his teeth as he, silently, worked his way down my chest. I was amiss, in the world, swimming in a pool of bliss, the stars exploding behind his eyes. Something intense, something dangerous lurked there, behind those dark eyes of his. His silent brooding had been a draw, his slight sighs against my ear, his lips at my throat, his jagged nails dragging against my flesh. My soul left me that night, burning in the embers of lust.

When he was finished with the expanse of flesh he could see, he tore my clothes and I yelped in surprise. It wasn’t my fiancée to see me naked, as the day I was born, for the very first time, it was Morgan, scratching and biting every inch of me. I groaned against him, my long, slender legs pulling him forever closer. The thirst consumed me as it had him. My fingers fanned out and curled in the sheets as he took me down to the root, in his sinful mouth, so hot, so wet, so good. The sentiment was lost on me, a blushing virgin in the hands of a sex-crazed drunk. When I was all slick, he settled his weight upon me and moved. His insides were pulsing and swollen and he loved every moment of it. So did I. I reached deep within him, feeling his heartbeat when he sunk into me...

He defiled me all those years ago and I refused to return over all those years. In fact, the only reason I am here, now, is because my own father died. Though, all those years ago, I confessed what had happened to Felicity and she was distraught. She nearly tore off her finger along with her engagement ring after, her father casting me out of the apartment we shared. But, still, it wouldn’t have felt right to stay with her after that. After I had become nothing but a monster, become a servant to lust. After I had fallen prey to the demons within him, fallen for the darkness behind those eyes.

Those eyes that I can see, glinting in the roaring flames of the fire. They shine, even in the sea of blackness that grows, blacker and blacker, as you sink, deeper and deeper, into the house. Outside, the storm rages with the anger of a thousand gods, but inside, the air is still and hot and I am breathless. The stillness in him begins to stir, I can feel it. His gaze stares into me, into my being, knowing me, feeling me. My breaths are punctuated by the crackle of the fire and the tension in my frame makes my bones creak. I know he will not break this tension, will not yield mercy after twenty odd years. I avoided him and, now, he wants me crawling back. And I will. I stand from the sparsely-cushioned bench and think of teasing him. It should be easy, naked as I am, but he wouldn’t budge and neither could I. All I can do is remember. Remember as I stare into his face, weathered by time and age, as I feel his eyes dig into my skin, as I see his fingers twitch when I take a step toward him.

And I rush him, feeling twenty, again. Blood boils in my veins as I shove him to the wall, my hand in his hair and his rough hands all on my neck. The fire rages within him, just as it did twenty years ago, and my skin burns. He welcomes me into his arms, the scent of alcohol thick on his breath. I am light-headed, floating, as he gropes me. His eyes study my face, frozen in an expression of need and relief. Why had I not returned earlier? The rush of twenty-two years hits me like a tonne of bricks as I press my mouth to his, my skin crawling, needing to be on his. He breathes against my ear and I can feel him. Forgive me, Morgan, please... The only man I ever loved and it was him. I avoided him for years because I loved him, loved what he did to me, loved his silent passion. My mouth betrays me and I whisper an apology against his ear. The dagger that twisted when he stared at Margaret. It was jealousy.

When I whisper those magic words against his ear, he grows stiff and I am afraid I have upset him but, no. His arms wrap around the small of my back, pulling me closer than ever before, pulling me into the blackness of the corridor, his arms never leaving me. Even without words, I can hear him. Maybe I am mad. Maybe he sees me for my mania and uses that to his advantage...? No, no, no. He could not do that.

In the dark corridor, we do not make it to his room, as he must have planned. We barely make it to a small table, knocking a couple books from it, as he lifts me onto it. He’s, strangely, handsome in this light, the lightning casting harsh shadows across the lines of his face. His scars are brought into sharp contrast and I’m so sorry for how long I left him. His body is warm and welcoming and I kiss him, again, my body thrumming with his touch. My pale flesh is flush with blood, his hands roaming across my back, jagged nails biting at my shoulder blades. I curse under my breath as he draws his hands back, one curling around my girth, the other clawing at my thigh. He gets to one knee and my eyes roll back, into my head. Please, Morgan, yes... My fingers find the hair on the back of his neck as he takes me down. His lips are heaven as they commit sins on my flesh. It has been so long but i have needed this. His fingers tighten around my thigh and I know he is prepared for when I, finally, release but it happens sooner than even I anticipate. Still, he drinks it down, silently, grateful for all I have given him. I can hear him swallow it, feeling his adam’s apple bobbing under my fingers.

When he pulls back, he looks more bloodthirsty than ever. When he kisses me, I taste myself, my essence on his tongue, his rough palms against my chest and back. Oh, I love him, I love him, I love him. I could scream it to the sky but, instead, I lead him back to my old room, pushing him to the bed and locking the door. I like him in his suit, I decide as I stare down at him. I want to remember him like this, wanting, needing and too proud to unbutton his suit trousers and do anything about it, himself. So, after watching him for a moment, I do it for him, his length just as impressive as I remember. I straddle his hips, his throbbing length rubbing against my behind. His fingers grab at my behind, guiding my hips into his rhythm. He sits up, kissing me, deeply, slowly, and I whine against him. His breaths go shallow, panting against my neck, placing kisses to my collarbone but I tear myself away, taking a spot between his outstretched legs.

I have to return the favour, from all those years ago. I take him into my mouth and a gutteral noise leaves his throat, his fingers clenching in the clammy sheets. He tastes earthy and the scent is heady, his length too much for just my mouth but I force it down. I swallow around the crown and his spine shudders, a strong hand closing around my shoulder. I bob my head a couple of times, looking up and watching him breathing, heavy.

I pull off him and he opens his eyes, the fire burning behind his irises. He knows what I intend to do. We have lived this before. I straddle him, again, and poise the head at my entrance. It stretches me out, his length reaching, deep, within me. His hands find my hips and he starts at a relentless pace. It stings, my saliva seeping into the fresh wounds, the scent of blood cutting through the scent of sweat and sex. But it is just...so...him. I let him claim me as his, his girth reaching inside me and making me spasm, reaching for his hair and kissing him, furiously. His thrusts into me are violent and I cannot help the strangled noises that leave me as he pushes me, face first, over the bed, taking me from behind. His breaths are hot and desperate in my ear, one hand circling my own arousal as the other curls around my shoulder. Overwhelmed with pleasure and touch, it does not take long to bring me to the edge. I kiss his hand, his fingers intertwined with my own, giving him all the permission he needs. And it hits.

My body is wracked with shivers, my mind falling into an abyss of emptiness. I can feel him fill me, pumping me full. He bites into my shoulder, hard, and I can smell blood on the air. His conclusive groan signifies the end, his body emptied into my own.

I can stay for a few more weeks, before my father’s funeral. Though, Morgan would have me, every night, and I would not be able to pallbear, much to my sister’s dismay...


End file.
